


Fallen

by Southern_Comfort



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Columbia-Presbyterian, Dr. Joyce Banner, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Steve Rogers, Lousy poetry, M/M, Mushy, Near Death, Non-Canon Relationship, Pepper/Happy (mentioned), Sentient Mjolnir, Smarm, The Great Teddy Bear couch makes an appearance, Thor's Electric Light Show, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wheelchairs, non-canon compliant, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southern_Comfort/pseuds/Southern_Comfort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve is critically injured, Tony has to learn to hide his deep love while helping him to recover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Agent_Orange_III](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Orange_III/gifts), [Brooke_Lynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brooke_Lynn/gifts).



> Taking the team out of their boxes and playing with them after sitting in stunned shock through the last twenty minutes of CA:CW. Needed something to make my heart hurt less. Now I’ll go play with Stucky for a while. Let me know if this needs a sequel of Tony owies– my head says it does.
> 
> Comments and useful criticism appreciated; flames gleefully deleted.

Stunned, he began to fall.

Steve couldn’t remember ever being hit so hard. His hand opened, the shield slipped away, his body no longer able to follow commands from his brain. And as his vision began to splinter and darkness swept his sight, he distantly felt his body land with a crunch onto the concrete sidewalk, the rough surface doing nothing to absorb the force and speed of his descent. The pain was mercifully short.

Captain America was deeply unconscious before his head impacted with the sidewalk.

 

 

“Cap? Yo, Captain!” Hawkeye’s voice echoed though Iron Man’s earpiece. “Where do you want the Army to set up camp?”

“Cap?” Iron Man echoed a few minutes later, listening to Jarvis giving information as he absently called out. Though he wasn’t the most talkative guy on the planet, the soldier had been giving his usual sharp, strategic instructions throughout their struggles with this _thing_ from another dimension. The beast flickered in and out of vision, half-here and half-elsewhere at the same time. But it was destructive enough--it had laid waste to two city blocks before they’d arrived, and seemed intent on noshing on a sewer pipe at the moment.

Thor had it in hand, though, landing it a crushing, reverberating, wham! on what seemed to be its head with his hammer, nearly leveling the beast. Tony had to smile; the demi-god was so casual about the situation, neatly stuffing the creature back through the vortex it had tumbled out of less than an hour ago. Like it was something he did every day.

_Who knew? Maybe it was a daily occurrence on Ur-anus or wherever Assgard actually is._

_Always Manhattan_ , Tony thought with some irritation. _Why is it always us? Do we have some sort of intergalactic bulls-eye for the freaks out there?_

When Cap didn’t answer his hail, Tony frowned, and looked around for their leader. His damaged heart began a staccato beat and he hit the suit’s thrusters before his eyes could really take in the situation.

Cap was down, his sleekly muscled body contorted awkwardly on its side, too oddly for a guy who had perfect control of every muscle fiber. He’d fallen like a marionette without leading strings. Tony dropped from the sky with a clumsy thud, landing near him, then ran to his side as fast as the weight of the suit would allow, dropping to his knees, then removing his helmet. “Cap? Steve!”

Close by, the Hulk was disappearing into Bruce Banner, and the scientist was shaking his head even as he came nearer. “Don’t move him, Tony! I don’t like the way his neck looks. We need a medical evac, STAT!” he yelled, knowing Jarvis was on the party line and able to hear him.

“He’s never out this fucking long!” Tony snapped, as the rest of the team surrounded them. Blood trickled from the corner of Steve’s mouth in a long red line that made Stark instantly nauseous. He was shaking inside the suit, waiting to hear what Bruce thought. He could barely see Steve breathing.

“Take it easy, Tony,” Banner soothed, as he knelt, his big, gentle hands moving over Rogers’ form, checking for breaks and bleeding. “He’s breathing okay, not bleeding externally . . .”

Black Widow was the last of them to show up. She was panting and talking even before she stopped moving. “He got nailed by the hammer on its way back to Thor.”

The blond demi-god’s jaw fell open, face smudged with dirt. “No! Mjolnir would never strike a shield-brother—”

She shook her head and waved a hand to calm him, pushing back a strand of her red hair. “It wasn’t intentional. Cap moved just as it was going around him.”

Bruce caught Tony’s eye. “We need to straighten his neck to prevent it healing incorrectly. Take off the gloves.”

“What—me?” He doubted he could hold a pencil, his fingers almost numb from fright.

“You’re the engineer, Tony. You hold far more delicate things than Steve Rogers. Now get over here!”

Some days it was a very difficult thing to ignore the power in Banner’s voice. He moved where directed, and knelt behind Steve’s head, taking up position where Bruce pointed, and as they adjusted Steve’s head, he felt wetness trickle between his trembling fingers.

“I’ve got blood here,” he muttered, again feeling nauseous.

“Thought you might,” Bruce admitted, accepting the cloths that Thor was tearing out of his cloak and using them to pack the wound behind Steve’s head. He watched Banner check Steve’s eyes and suck his teeth in annoyance at what he saw. “Where’s that chopper?”

Jarvis’ calm voice sounded in Tony’s ear. “ETA, 3 minutes.” He relayed that to Bruce, since the Hulk had never yet managed to keep an earpiece in during a fight.

“He’s so damned pale,” Stark grumbled, and thought his knees hurt, and his back too, from leaning over and keeping Steve still, he wouldn’t move an inch.

“You would be too if you got hit by the hammer of the gods,” Clint mumbled, making small movements with his fingers and hands, a nervous tic he got when one of them was hurt or in pain.

“Any other mortal . . .” Thor didn’t need to finish that sentence. Tony knew exactly how hard that hammer could strike, and at the time, Thor hadn’t been trying to push an 80-ton whale-beast with tentacles through an inter-dimensional portal like a delivery in reverse.

 The emergency services chopper landed nearby and the med-evac team loaded Steve onto a stretcher and got him aboard with calm, concerted movements. Bruce slipped in with them, and neither the flight-nurse nor the pilot-paramedic protested.

Tony would have smiled if the situation hadn’t been so dire. Few people argued with Bruce; it was a given, along with his shy brown eyes and his tendency to turn green and mean. Clint chucked his earpiece at Banner, who caught it out of mid-air in an absent motion that made the archer grin.

Iron Man closed his helmet and clutched Black Widow close, while Thor took Clint up with him. They followed the chopper in its relatively slow pace to Columbia-Presbyterian and trailed behind as the emergency team took Rogers down the elevator to the ER. Now that SHIELD was gone, each of them at one time or another had been patched up here. Rogers had been the lone standout. His healing ability usually made ER visits superfluous.

Bruce turned to Natasha as they transferred Rogers’ to a bed. “Where did the hammer hit him?”

“His back.”

“Not his head?”

She shook her own. “No. Definitely his spine. And the hammer tried to pull back before it struck him, but the mass it was carrying . . . it just couldn’t stop.”

Thor clutched Mjolnir tighter in a grimy fist and said nothing.

“Where was he?” Tony asked, trying to figure out the energy equation.

Clint stepped up. “When I saw him last, he was tying one of the tentacles in knots on the roof of a five-story building.”

“Yes.” Natasha confirmed. “And then he was gone.”

“He must have fallen from there.”

Tony and Bruce looked at each other as they automatically calculated the mass, force and velocity of Steve’s landing. “And he’s still alive?” Bruce whispered, shocked.

“Aye. He is a warrior born,” Thor insisted, his face dirty, hair sticky with slime, cloak torn and bloody, but still looking and sounding like the ancient prince he was.

Banner turned back to the doctors that hovered over Steve’s body. Realizing that they’d never be able to get the uniform off of the soldier without moving him, Tony produced a knife from one of the weapons racks in his thighs; it would cut through the adamantium and Kevlar reinforced fabric without hesitation. He slid the clear sheath off and handed it to Banner. “Careful with that. It’s sharp enough to dice up the Other Guy.”

Bruce’s eyes widened, but he turned back to Rogers and efficiently cut his uniform off of him.

Not that Steve was body-conscious; no one who had served in the Army could be, but he wouldn’t have liked being stared at the way these people were. “Yeah, yeah, he’s gorgeous. Can we move on?” Tony growled to the group.

The doctors and nurses working on Steve blinked once and went back to their inventory. His neck had been encased in a white plastic collar on the chopper and an IV inserted in both arms. He didn’t move when they pinched him or pricked his feet with needles. His normally metronome-like heartbeat wavered on the screen to their right.

And then the lights went out.

Tony cursed the hurricane-like weather that had descended on the East Coast at about the same time they had gotten the call-out. It had been a nuisance to fight through, but nothing more than that, except for Clint, who probably had a more difficult time judging his shots. Obviously, the power grid to this part of the city had been affected. The hospital back-up generators took over smoothly, but Steve’s heart wasn’t doing as well.

The doctors talked, but it was apparent their concern was grave.

“What’s going on?” Tony demanded. He was still in the Iron Man armor, which added inches to his height, and a commanding width, too.

“His heart’s failing from shock and internal trauma. And their battery back-ups for the defib unit aren’t really strong enough to deal with Captain America,” Bruce told him, his mouth quirking in that way that warning he was nursing a lot of anger.

Tony shook his head in frustration. “No big green scare in upper Manhattan, Bruce,” he ordered, not surprised to see his friend close his eyes and deliberately calm himself. To the room at large, he called, “We have the god of thunder right here.” Stark patted Thor’s arm and looked up, past the massive shoulders, to the handsome, worried face beneath a shock of dirty blond hair. “Can Mjolnir give us a jolt?”

“Of course. Where—?”

“Let’s filter it through my gloves; that way Jarvis can make sure we don’t overload Steve.”

“As you wish.”

The hammer began a coruscating light show, blue-white lightning dancing over the dark pewter, highlighting its runes. Thor tapped her against Iron Man’s metal shoulder and Jarvis directed the extra power to the gloves.

“How much do you want?”

The doctors looked at one another. “300 joules at first. More if we need it.”

Steve’s heart thumped once more, almost in protest, Tony thought, and stopped.

He dropped his hand onto the well-muscled chest and muttered, “Clear!” Everyone sprang away except Tony and Thor. “Okay, J.” A charge went from his glove into Steve’s chest, causing his limp body to jump, but his heart didn’t beat.

“Bring it up to 400,” the tall doctor closest to the table ordered, his voice sure and clear.

Tony shocked Steve again, but still there was no pulse.

“400. One more time,” Bruce whispered, echoed by Tony’s, “Please, Steve. Please.”

His glove discharged again. There was a dull silence, followed by a nurse’s cry, “There’s a pulse!”

Stark let out a breath and another, suddenly aware of how stiff he had been, waiting for that small thump and then the next. Thor clapped him on the back, while Natasha and Clint shared hugs.

The doctors moved quickly then, dragging Thor and Tony down to the MRI scanner, so they could get a better idea of Rogers’ injuries. The prince patiently channeled power into various machines so that they had sufficient energy to take the scans and show them on the computers. What they saw amazed them, as the serum began to work its magic on the soldier’s wounds. While he had broken what appeared to be every bone in his body, his fractured spine was slowly re-knitting itself, shards of bone coming incrementally closer with each minute that passed. Organs were flat masses of blood, but even now you could see new healthy tissue. His skull was a mess of torn tissues and blood, but that was being absorbed and mended. His swollen eyes and face seemed to have gotten the worst of the damage from the blow to the back of his skull, and impact with unforgiving concrete; they were covered with soft gauze and allowed to heal on their own.

Rogers wasn’t responding to any stimuli, and Tony hoped that meant he wasn’t feeling anything beneath his coma-like state. “How will we know if he’s in pain?”

The head of the trauma unit blinked as the back-up generators kicked in and the lights went on. He was the one who had been so confidently giving orders. “Usually the pulse rises, the patient sweats or becomes restless, and we dose accordingly. Captain Rogers unfortunately has such a quick metabolism that our most advanced pain medications are useless.”

“But magic is not,” Thor intoned. “Heimdall,” he cried, calling to the Gatekeeper of the now-repaired Bifrost, “bring my brother to me.” It was an order, spoken in a voice so accustomed to command that it was as much a part of him as his hammer. So many times Tony allowed himself to forget just how _old_ Thor was, that he had been an integral part of Human history itself, that the bluff giant was a demi- _God_. Thor didn’t wait more than two minutes before Loki was standing next to him, a round pattern burned into white and grey linoleum floor of the emergency room. His eyes were the same emerald-green, but there was an obvious gentleness in them now that had been utterly lacking two years ago. He wore green leather pants, and a long tunic in copper, a leaf-patterned scarf wrapped around his neck. A pair of chipmunks rested comfortably on his shoulder, tucked into the strands of his hair. He dropped an almost-delicate hand on Thor’s arm. “You called?”

Thor’s smile was loving and pleased. “I have need of your gifts for healing, my heart.”

Loki’s emerald eyes went wide. “You are not injured?”

“Nay, nay. It is for my friend, Steve, I ask.”

The god of mischief didn’t seem to mind the abrupt summons, and Tony had a moment’s question as to where Loki the _Trickster_ had gone.

“I thought the soldier healed himself.”

“Aye, he does. But if he is in pain while he does so, these good healers cannot aid him.”

His pitch-black hair hung down his back in a tangle of curls, and Loki pulled a lock close and twirled it absently. “You wish me to deaden the pain, but not interfere with his healing.”

“Yes.”

“As you will,” Loki absently replied, stretching out a long-fingered hand to rest on Steve’s chest, beneath the burn mark from their version of a defibrillator. He spoke beneath his breath, liquid syllables that barely left his lips but which Tony could neither remember nor decipher. A glowing band of white light grew around Rogers’ neck until it encircled it, then his wrists, and finally his ankles. “The spell will prevent him from knowing pain, but his senses will respond as they have always done.” He frowned, and glanced at Thor. “He is hovering too near the swift path to Valhalla for my comfort, Thor. I would not have you grieve his loss.”

“It will be as the Norns decree, Loki. Neither you nor I may challenge them in this, their duty.”

“You are also one of the choosers of the slain, my prince, one of Odin’s Valkyr.” He nodded to Steve. “Give him strength and guide him away from the path. He will follow you; you are, perhaps the only one he would, for you and he have met on the field of battle. He has felt a small measure of your passion and power and learned that you are more than this simple flesh you wear.”

Thor took Loki’s hand and kissed his palm, resting it back on his arm once again. “You speak true, my heart, and I will heed your words and not stray far from his side until the danger is past. And you?”

A light flush caressed the demi-god’s cheeks. “I will abide with you and favor the soldier in his mortal battle.”

Thor leaned in to lightly kiss Loki’s temple, then returned his deep blue gaze onto Steve. They stood there, still as stones, unmoving, almost inanimate, but for the slight susurration of their breath. For all that Stark had often been locked inside his own consciousness, his thoughts a temple of creation, that level of intensity came nowhere near the effort that these two manifested so casually.

He sighed, disappointed to feel inadequate in comparison to anyone, really, and then shrugged it off at a glance from Bruce. The group trailed behind as Steve was moved to ICU, and then hunkered down outside his glass-enclosed room to wait, a motley crew of battered superheroes waiting for their leader to rise.

Or just open his eyes.

 

 

Over the next five days, each member of the team went back to the Tower to change out of their uniforms and into baths, beds, and food. Always they returned to their obvious center at the intensive care unit, the group’s heart lodged in Steve Rogers’ chest. Without him, they could go on, but Stark wondered if they would want to.

Loki and Thor traded shifts together, eating and sleeping, as did the rest, but one not straying too far from the other. There was a definite magnetic attraction between the two Aesir, one far stronger than the angry thing that had existed prior to the Battle for New York. They were comfortable around one another, their voices pitched only for the other, an isolated island of two adrift in a sea of mortals.

Stark was sitting next to Steve, holding his hand as he had since Steve had gone down, trying to read on his Starkpad, while also watching Steve’s chest rise and fall. Bruce had been doing some amazing work with nanites, and his branding of BannerTech was both as simple and elegantly complex as the man himself.

He felt a squeeze on his fingers, but ignored it. Steve had been unconsciously clutching for a day or so. When it came again, faster and stronger, he lifted his head to look into dazed blue eyes in a face so wan and exhausted, he felt his lungs clutch in his chest in worry.

“Hey, handsome,” Tony said softly, gesturing to a nurse who sat in the corner of the room. She quietly smiled, got up, checked the machines and tubes, and left the room.

There was a tube up Steve’s nose to give him nutrients, and a clear mask to add oxygen. Tony grabbed a sliver of ice out of his water jug and slipped it between Rogers’ lips. He sucked on it with a tiny smile and opened his mouth wider for more. “Thirsty, huh?” He used a spoon this time, and gave him more of the cracked ice.

Each member of the team found their way into the room, one at a time, to see Steve’s eyes open and muzzily focus on them for just a moment before returning to Tony and his ice.

The doctors’ entry tossed all of them out into the hall except for Bruce, who was immovable. Whenever the medical staff got pushy and insisted he leave, his eyes flickered a warning in vivid neon emerald and they paled and backed away.

Steve’s doctor was the chief of medical services, Michael Pearson. Tony’s long-time friend, Hank Pym, another scientist, said he was the best of the best in emergency surgery and knew his shit cold. The fact that Pearson knew that Steve’s enhanced physiology could cause problems with regards to pain and healing had told Tony that he had done his research on all of them, and their individual medical situations. Not that it meant he would relax his vigilance; he knew Bruce wouldn’t, or the Wonder Twins of Asgard, for that matter. Clint had taken to hiding himself in the ceiling, Tasha to wearing a nurse’s uniform and remaining near Steve’s room, looking for anything out of place. Medical staff had been challenged by them both and searched; if they didn’t work in ICU, they were directed to an elevator and told to get back to work, or in the case of undercover reporters, tossed out of the hospital.

Stark waited outside for news, impatient, pacing and wringing his hands together, while Thor and Loki were calmly standing by. Natasha and Clint clutched hands. Clint was praying quietly, under his breath, but Tony could see his lips move. He wished he could still pray, could still believe in an all-encompassing loving God.

Steve had to be all right. He just _had_ to be. There just weren’t any other options. He didn’t want to consider a world without the super-straight, overwhelmingly moral guy he’d come to accept as family.

Pearson didn’t leave them to stew for long. His long, serious face was countered by an outrageously attractive smile. He clapped his hands together and said, his voice so Southern, so melodic, the vowels were music, “He won’t be fighting anybody for a while, but barring any serious set-backs, I think he’ll do just fine.”

The tall doctor was just about bowled over by Thor’s appreciation. He was hugged by Natasha, kissed by Clint, received a pat on the arm from Bruce, while Tony just shook his head and muttered, “Hey folks, Steve did all the heavy lifting here!”

Pearson chuckled. “Couldn’t agree with you more. I appreciate your and Thor’s assistance with the AED. Understand there was no battery back-up that could help the Captain. Guess with y’all in town, we’re going to have to be prepared for events like this.” He turned briefly to Loki and thanked him as well.

Ignoring the doctor now that he’d said what he wanted to hear, Tony slipped back inside, nodding his head when Steve gave him a sleepy smile. “Sure, Chuckles, it’s all good. You just took twenty years off my life with that little stunt.”

Rogers blinked. He swallowed and whispered, “Hmm?”

Tony sat down on the bed next to him and fidgeted with the sheets. “Never mind; Pepper keeps trying to get into my head that it’s not all about me, anyway. So, how’re you feeling?”

“Umm. Why’m I glowing?”

Stark chuckled. “You’ve been magicked by Thor’s Bride. Or it looks that way, anyway.”

“What?”

“Tony, he needs to rest, not to puzzle out your ambiguous sentence structure!” Bruce clapped a hard hand on Tony’s shoulder, making him wince, while he turned to Steve and said, “Loki made it possible for you to heal without the usual pain involved. And given that you’ve broken most of the bones in your body, we thought that would be a good idea. That’s why you’re doing a good imitation of an angel.”

Steve blinked again, his expression dubious, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.

“The nerve of people,” Tony groused. “Spend day and night by their side, and what do they do? Say ‘thank you’? Offer money, sexual favors, ice cream? No. They go back to sleep.”

Bruce chuckled at his tone. “What did you expect him to do, Tony? Spar with Thor?”

“Don’t think he’ll be doing that for a while,” Stark muttered.

“Nope. But that’s not a bad thing. He spends too much time in the gym as it is. I think he hides there.”

Tony pursed his lips, and Bruce elbowed him. “Don’t get started on me, Mr. Stark. I don’t go down to my lab and live there for days at a time.” Bruce bit his lip. “Usually.”

Tony snickered. “Oh, no, not you.” He settled back into his chair and picked up his Starkpad.  “You’re the poster child for mental stability.”

Banner sucked his teeth sharply in reply and then ignored him, settling on the other bed in the room, and was fast asleep in minutes.

Tony moved his chair back to Steve’s side, grasped his hand in his own, put his head down on the side of the bed, and with a whispered “Thanks,” to a god he didn’t believe in, slept.

 

 

It hadn’t been something Tony had planned, falling in love with Steve Rogers, he realized days later, quietly working in his workshop while Steve rested on the super-soft, extra-wide, chocolate brown couch that Tony often used for naps.

While his hands focused on the micro-circuitry of one of his gloves, which had been burned out by the power of Mjolnir, his mind pondered how this had happened. _It was terribly difficult to figure out,_ he grumbled to himself.

 _Steve’s knock-you-down-dead handsome. He has the kind of heart that they write romantic poetry about. He’d fight to the death for those he considered his friends, or, any stranger on the street, for that matter. He’s as dependable as sunshine and clear as rain, with a level of integrity that’s humbling. How could you not love that level of perfection?_ He closed his eyes for a moment. _Oh, Stark, what have you done this time?_

Bruce’s arrival interrupted his adoring ruminations. The scientist came by and checked on Steve every few hours, though Rogers was sleeping a lot and eating even more. He was a mass of bruises, the serum apparently deciding that getting his internal organs in good shape was far more important than the discomfort of burgundy, black, and navy blue boo-boos.

After he’d stumbled to a wheelchair in the hospital and then into the limo, Rogers had politely and with appreciation told Loki he could lay off with the magic. The demi-god gave him an entirely condescending smile, and ignored his request, Thor standing by his side, chuckling.

“You are a warrior of worth, Steven, but you must be patient with yourself and with us, I fear. You have been severely injured,” the thunder god insisted.

Stark could have kissed him. Steve really didn’t understand just broken he truly was. Even with Loki maintaining lesser degrees of magic every day, it was obvious that Steve was struggling to move, to sit, and lie down. Tony just itched to make it all better. If he could switch places, take on Steve’s pain, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Steve just handled it – he accepted the pain for what it was and moved on. It made Tony crazy that there was nothing he could do to help.

The hospital had been inundated with reporters, paparazzi, and autograph hounds within hours of Cap’s injuries becoming known. It was enough to make Tony decide that Avengers Tower needed its own medical floor with a staff that knew how to deal with super-stubborn, super-soldiers, who insisted they leave the day after they woke up from a _coma_.

From a young life full of illness, needles and ineffective medicines, Steve loathed doctors and hospitals. He’d visit them, of course, going to children’s wards, the VA hospitals, whenever he was invited, and even when he wasn’t. Nothing he liked better than to show up to a children’s ward with Thor or Clint in tow, charming the staff, and making the kids so happy their little eyes shone. The most sick or the dying, Steve would talk with, hold, hug, and Thor would carry them in flight for a time, slowly and very carefully. The Avengers were always available for the Make-a-Wish Foundation.

“Tony? You okay?”

He came back to himself with a frown. “Sure. He’s been out like a light for two hours,” he advised softly, not wanting to wake the sleeping soldier.

Banner gave him a dark look. “I don’t think you’ve had more than three hours sleep since it happened.”

“I don’t want to sleep right now.”

A gentle hand descended on his shoulder, rubbing lightly. “He’s going to be just fine, Tony. You can rest.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugged, not wanting to lie to Banner. “Except I wouldn’t. I’d toss and turn and worry.”

Banner shook his head, his silver traced curls barely controlled by hair gel. “You know, no one, besides me, who watched you two argue and grumble at each other over the years, would believe how concerned you are right now.”

“Besides you, huh?”

Banner smiled and leaned against Stark’s worktable. “Being able to keep track of the emotions around me helps prevent Hulk-outs. And I’ve been watching you two dance for some time. Why haven’t you told him how you feel?”

Tony’s laugh was short and derisive. “That’s a joke, right? Steve deserves the best there is – that isn’t me, no matter how much I lie to myself on a daily basis.”

The scientist sucked his teeth. “What bullshit!” he growled. His hands moved around as he spoke. “Somehow, you’ve gotten it into your admittedly big head that he doesn’t feel it?” Bruce’s eyes were a pensive mahogany brown, voice mellow and measured, almost transfixing. “The electric charge that just about shoots from you two whenever you’re within ten feet? God knows, no one else misses it – just about burns the hair off our arms at five feet!”

Tony let out a sharp exhale and dropped his tools, pulling off the magnifying eye mask. “He’s no fool, Bruce. He knows anything between us would only cause pain. And we’ve both had enough of that.”

The doctor sighed and looked at the ceiling for a moment before he replied. “And that’s why you had a years-long relationship with Pepper? Because you only cause pain?”

“She is how I **do** know. It’s my real super-power,” Tony told him with a wry smile. “Listen, there isn’t one lover I’ve had in my life who still feels affection towards me, except her. And even she has her moments.”

Bruce shook his dark head. “Hot, steaming, crap. You’re being way too hard on yourself, Tony. All right, you’re not the most emotionally sensitive person around. You can be unintentionally caustic and brusque. But all of us are aware that you give anything and everything to those you love.”

“Everything, apparently, _except_ me.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Child abuse comes in many forms, Tony; I know you know that. Your near-cruelty protects you from being hurt first. Steve calls you on it and so do I. You were ignored and overlooked until you acted out, or created something amazing. So you kept on creating, kept on doing what would garner you attention, because it’s what you needed. Didn’t matter if it was the good or the bad kind of attention – it was a need, filling something hollow inside you.”

Tony turned to humor. “Listen, Dr. Joyce with chest hair, not that this isn’t insightful or anything, because it is, but it isn’t exactly helping me with my crush.”

“Because it’s not a crush,” Bruce replied with the same flat tone that said the Earth was round. _Damn. He’s too fucking perceptive for a green-eyed mean machine._

Tony dropped his head onto his worktable, conceding defeat. Bruce would never yield on a scientific point. “He can and will do better, Bruce,” he said softly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed . . .  Steve leads, he doesn’t get led by anybody.”

Tony groaned. This was increasing becoming a no-win scenario, his own _Kobiyashi Maru_. “Go away,” he begged, one hand waving him off. “Go, please.”

Bruce nodded. “For now. But you need to sleep before you fall over. And Steve can’t pick you up right now.” He swished through the protective lab doors with an absent, “Thanks, Jarvis _.”_

There was quiet in the workshop after, until Steve’s voice murmured, “He’s right. You need some sleep. C’mere.”

Stark blanched, wondering just how much Steve had overheard. He picked up his head and turned around, then smiled. “You look adorable, all cuddled up with an Iron Man pillow and matching blankie. Should I get your teddy?”

“If you come over here, I won’t need one,” Steve replied and lifted the blanket in invitation. “Come on,” he urged, his voice a siren song to an exhausted man.

Throwing caution to the wind, Stark moved closer and slid onto the couch, carefully not putting any pressure on Steve. “Just don’t tell anyone I slept with you, okay? Don’t think I could stand the slings and arrows of your outraged fans and adoring admirers for sullying your pure reputation.”

“What a load,” Steve grumbled. “For the last time, I am not a complete virgin, I was in a world war, and I trailed Bucky through some of the worst bars and pick-up joints in the lower East Side.” He turned slightly more on his side, one arm coming carefully over Tony’s waist to keep him anchored on the cushions.

As soon as his head hit the softness of the pillow and his eyes closed, Stark knew he was done for. But he gamely replied, “Ooh, not a complete virgin? Meaning there are some things you haven’t done….”

Steve’s chuckle at his teasing was followed by a soft snore and the relaxation of his big body against Tony. Warm and comfortable, Stark fell asleep, to fall into erotic dreams of he and Steve re-enacting the beach scene in “From Here to Eternity.” It was devastating when he woke hours later to realize it hadn’t been real, but it was probably just as well, he told himself. Sand would have gone in _all_ the wrong places.

 

 

Steve was in an automated wheelchair for ten days. He felt asleep sitting up, during conversations, while eating. One moment he was there, and the next, his head was lolling like an infant’s. He had to be fed by hand, moved from chair to bed, and only insisted that he use the toilet by himself. His bones were knitting at an astronomical pace, but it was beating the crap out of him at the same time, and he wasn’t steady on his legs yet.

Tony dropped everything to help Steve. He was his constant shadow, a helping hand when needed, and companionship when it wasn’t. When Steve wasn’t on the Avengers dedicated floor, kitchen or living room, he was in Tony’s workshop, sleeping or reading. His eyes tired easily, so Tony had Jarvis read to him, or uploaded audio books to his Kindle. Instead of the raucous rock music Tony preferred, he had Jarvis play Steve’s music from his Cloud. He kept his chefs on their toes, creating meals that Steve knew and loved five times a day to keep his metabolism charged enough for healing him. Twice a day, Steve received a stimulating but gentle massage from Stark’s personal masseuse, which was helping to increase his circulation and move the dead and dying cells out of his body faster. A burly aide was hired to help Steve shower and dress.

They had taken to sleeping in the workshop together. It was convenient; when Tony knocked off at 2 or 3 in the morning, he didn’t have far to walk to sleep. And there was no way Stark was letting Steve out of his sight until the man was able to walk more than five steps at a time without groaning.

Tony wasn’t getting much work done, but Pepper wasn’t bugging him. More than anyone, she understood Tony’s need to take care of Steve. He called her every night.

“I’m so glad Steve is doing better, Tony,” she said, and he could hear her sigh of relief. “Are you going to go ahead with adding a medical department to the Tower?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Steve was asleep next to him on the “teddy bear” couch, his head tucked against Tony’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist. “Most doctors don’t know what to make of super-soldiers.”

“Or Iron Men,” she replied. “It’s a good idea, though it will add to the Avengers budget.”

“That’s okay. I can fund them on my own for the next 150 years or so, with the rate of annual yield on investments. Once we’ve finished setting up the Avengers as a charitable organization, that’ll solve the tax headache, too. Not that we don’t have an entire company of accountants handling that.”

“The DOJ is sticking on the idea of the Avengers being a 501 (c) 3, but we’ll get there. Harriman & Lear won’t let it go without another battle or three. And remember, the annual shareholder meeting is on the 14th, ten days away.” Her voice changed tone. “You will be there.”

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am, director-ma’am,” he replied with a smile. “No, seriously, I’ll have Jarvis catapult me out of the workshop if he needs to, okay? Promise.”

Steve muttered, “Tasha’s on stand-by to Natalie Rushman his tuckus to the 17th floor at noon on the 14th.”

“Thanks, Steve!” she called, voice high and cheerful. “Glad your ears aren’t broken!”

“No, just everything else, Ms. Potts.” And then he was asleep again.

“All right, gotta run. Talk to you tomorrow, Mr. Stark.”

“Good night, Pep-pep.”

She laughed and hung up. He dropped his phone onto his stomach, and looked over at Steve, tucked up against his side, like a particularly tired leech. Steve was glowing less from Loki’s magic, which probably meant his pain level was receding. As much as he didn’t like the guy, and wondered what the hell was going on between him and Thor, he’d done Steve (and the rest of them) a solid favor. How Tony would repay that favor was still in question. _What do you give the demi-god that has everything?_

And that brought him back to his problem. The big Captain America sized problem. He knew this was going to end soon, that as Steve healed, he’d probably want to go back to how he had lived prior to nearly-dying (again). And he wondered how he was going to handle being politely pushed out of Rogers’ physical circle one more, back to the verbal and physical sparring, but not touching, that had been their _modus operandi_ before. It was going to hurt, but at least with Tony out of the way again, other people could move into Steve’s life and hopefully, his bed.

His stomach chose that moment to complain and he felt acid climb up the back of his throat, tasting like a soap bubble in his mouth. Carefully, quietly, he got up and popped a few Tums. Emotional stress did it to him every time. And loving Steve Rogers lately had come with a ton of stress.

Looking at Steve, he could see the long lines of his body beneath the red and gold IM blanket. All the swelling in his face had gone down and he needed a haircut, the blonde hair curling at the sides of his neck. He was in navy track pants and a white tee shirt, muscled arms limp at his sides, legs lightly crossed at the ankle. He’d lost weight fast, though he couldn’t have eaten more than he had. But he was still beautiful, still Steve. Tony took a mental snapshot; his eidetic memory filed it along with the others he had made. His damaged heart squeezed tightly in his chest, in protest at the emotional pain, he thought. _I love you, Steve._

The blue eyes opened as if he had heard him. “Come back,” he murmured, mouth soft, cheeks pale. “ ‘m cold.”

He didn’t need any more incentive to climb onto the couch, and lean himself against Steve, contributing whatever body warmth he held with pleasure. Steve turned, tucked his chin on Tony’s shoulder, and asked, “Who died?”

“Hmm?”

“You look as though Rhodey or Pepper had died. What’s got you so sad?”

He’d have to be more careful not to moon over the man. “Was I? Hate shareholder meetings, that’s all.”

“Liar.”

Tony chuckled. “No, that really is true.”

Steve sniffed in annoyance. “All right, don’t tell me. But you’re popping antacids like they were M & M’s.”

“Are you always this perceptive?”

“If you didn’t fib to me, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Truth is over-rated. And flexible.”

“You pushed people away when you had plutonium poisoning too, I’ve heard.” His voice was alarmed.

“No, no, my captain. I really am okay. My stomach’s bugging me, yeah, but I’ve been a little worried about you, and that’s how it shows. That’s all.”

Steve let that sit for a long few moments. “I know I’ve been a pain--”

“Again, _no_. Really.” Tony turned to face him. “If you hadn’t let me take care of you, I’d be a complete drunken mess right now, front page news, with Pepper and Rhodey and probably Bruce bellowing at me. So . . . no.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “You _died_ on us. And yeah, given the lives we lead, it could happen at any time, but . . .  I just wasn’t prepared.”

The back of Steve’s fingers brushed gently against Tony’s cheek, wiping up a tear he hadn’t realized he’d shed. “Shh, I’m here. Right here.”

“And you’d better stay like that.” He realized what he’d said. “I mean, alive. Whole.”

“I know what you mean, Tony,” Steve said with an enigmatic smile. “You, too.”

Jarvis interrupted what he was going to say next. “Avengers Assemble!”

Tony growled and rolled off the couch. “What the hell, J?” He turned to Rogers with a fierce frown and snapped, “You stay put, mister!”

Steve started to rise and Tony pushed him back. The fact that he could do it was sufficient reason why he couldn’t go with his team and Steve knew it. He subsided with a grumbled, “What’s our status, Jarvis?”

“The New York Police Department has requested your assistance with an armored man. He is attempting to enter the Hilton hotel, where the President is attending a Democratic National Committee fundraiser.”

Steve turned to Tony. “Go. I’ll watch and direct as much as I can from here. Jarvis, I want any and all CCTV and NYPD camera coverage of the area and those inside the hotel--”

His voice was cut off as Stark went to suit up. He picked up Clint on his way out, and they headed out to the hotel.

“Yee-haw!” Hawkeye cried, sitting at the small of Iron Man’s back, squishing his thighs against his metal encased ribs. “Git along, little doggie!”

Tempted to do a barrel roll, Iron Man managed to only speed up, making certain that the wind from their passing gave Hawkeye the sudden desire to lean down and clutch with nervous fingers onto his ‘doggie’. Clint’d be picking mosquitos out of his teeth for a week.

Bruce was already there, the hotel and the tower not all that far from one another.

While Banner stayed by the police cordon until he was needed, Iron Man and Hawkeye moved inside the hotel, following the debris. In the center of the largest ballroom, there were easily three hundred people in evening dress, secret service agents in black suits with earwigs, and no President to be seen.

Their attacker, however, stood out. He was easily 10’ tall and almost as wide, as obviously muscled as the Hulk. He wore armor of antique design and a helmet of gold. “Hey, pal, get lost? The armor convention is down the block.”

Nothing Iron Man did took the helmet-headed giant off his feet, and he seemed to be able to generate a force field that reflected his repulsors back towards him. Hawkeye’s arrows were but pin-pricks and only served to make him angrier.

“Bring me the President or they all die!” he roared, swinging his arms around him, sending Tony into the nearest wall and then banging him like some child’s toy onto the floor. “Um. Ow.”

“Thor has brought the President to a secure location,” Steve’s cool voice advised. “Keep him busy until Thor can get back and we can move this to an open area. Banner, prepare for a pickup.”

Iron Man got to his feet with a strained wheeze. “Hey, pal, who’s your tailor? Haven’t seen a helm like that in . . .  what, centuries?”

When Thor arrived, he lifted the giant by his helmet while Iron Man grabbed Banner from the crowd outside, and they flew to Central Park. Dropping them both, Iron Man began physically pounding the guy, before Thor leveled them both with a massive attack by Mjolnir and his lightning, which shorted the systems in his point where Tony could move, but only just. “I’m tapping out,” he irritably advised. “Thunder god style collateral damage.”

“Are you injured?” Steve asked.

“No. Just fried.”

“All right then. Thor, Hulk, it’s up to you. Hulk, smash him!”

With a decided grin, the behemoth waded in, flexing his massive fists. Central Park would never be the same as trees were uprooted to use as baseball bats and the turf was damaged to the point where only mud showed through.

Tony watched as they managed to bring down the guy without too much further trouble, with a mix of Thor’s magic and the Hulk’s brute strength. The NYPD, FDNY, and the Army Reserve’s arrival on the scene coincided with the attacker’s defeat, and they took him into custody.

Hulk became Banner and accepted a ride from a NYPD squad car back to the Tower while Thor hauled Tony and his defunct suit to the landing pad, watching as it was disassembled and removed from his body as he limped forward.

“My apologies, Stark,” Thor intoned with a chagrined expression. “That creature was remarkably strong and seemingly indestructible.”

Tony smiled and patted the big guy’s massive arm. “No problem. I’ll have to work on preventing black-outs while you’re around,” he commented softly. “That’ll teach me to get lazy.”

The Asgardian snorted in denial and ignored his comment. “How is the captain?”

“Hmm. Probably seething at being left behind, coordinating with city and federal agencies, or sleeping, in that order.”

The blond grinned. “He is patient, while you are impetuous. You make an excellent pairing. When are the nuptials scheduled? I wish to . . . what is the saying? Dance at your wedding!” he burst out.

“Who’s getting married?” Bruce asked, his Stark-tech purple pants still attached to his lean hips.

“Steven and Anthony!” Thor told him with a smile and clap on Tony’s back that nearly sent him to the floor.

“What?” Bruce asked, his mouth falling open in happy surprise. “That was fast.”

“No, Thor’s confused. We are not getting married. We’re not even dating!” Tony babbled, worried, _terrified,_ that Steve would get wind of this.

“But you are in love!” Thor insisted, appearing scandalized. “Do you not wish to make the warrior your own?”

Stark closed his eyes and dropped his chin, all humor fled. “Steve’s not in love with me, Thor, but thanks for the thought.” He patted the big guy’s biceps in consolation. “Now, I’d better go check on our super-soldier and make sure he hasn’t worn himself out. And don’t you dare mention this conversation to him; either of you. I mean it!” he snapped, as he headed off, body aching from tension, and heart aching from something else entirely.

 

 

As he expected, Steve was walking the workshop floor, though with a decided limp and a lean to his left that made turning a hazard. He was talking to somebody from the government at the other end, grumbling about officious idiots who thought they were clever. Tony frowned, shook his head, and pointed at the couch with his best glare. Cap stopped walking, leaned against one of the workbenches, and proceeded to argue with the person on the other end.

“So what you’re telling me, is that you had no intel on a guy who wanted to injure, kidnap, or kill the President of the United States. Besides that, you didn’t arrive until after the fight was over. Are you kidding me?”

Tony snatched the phone, held it to his ear, said “Good-bye” in his best automated tone, and hung up, tossing the phone back at Steve. “Take it easy on the old blood pressure there, Rogers. No one got hurt, except maybe some really old trees. And the Great Lawn got a little roughed up. And maybe the Hilton ballroom has a few new holes where they hadn’t been before. . . .” He blinked himself back to the moment. “You’re just pissy because you had to stay behind. Don’t take it out on the troops.”

Steve looked at him, momentarily stunned. “Who are you? And what did you do with Tony Stark?”

“I’m channeling you and being a responsible adult.” He stopped as Steve began to laugh. “Hey! Is that any way to treat a guy turning over a new leaf?”

“It’d have to be an entire forest. Come here and help me back to the couch.” He leaned one arm over Tony’s shoulders, so he wrapped a hand around the soldier’s ribs, and _oh dear God_ , it felt so good, Stark was silenced until Steve sat back down. “Hungry? Thirsty?”

“Tired of lying on my back,” Steve grumped. “Sorry, I’m an impatient patient.” His blue eyes held a gleam of fire.

“Oh, at the cranky part of the recovery stage. I get it. Want to do, but can’t. Poor ba-bee,” he teased, briefly patting Steve’s head. “Look, your pencils and pad are here. Your books. I’ve downloaded the Library of Congress onto your Cloud. Jarvis has every movie ever made on file, and pretty much any music you could want. Dum-E is at your every beck and call. You have chefs and masseurs on speed dial.” He batted his eyelashes. “And you have me. What more could a guy ask for?”

Steve gave him a smile that made Tony warm all the way down to the tips of his toes. “You have been pretty spectacular,” he admitted. “In case I haven’t said it before, thank you.”

“Aw.” Tony pretended he was shy and put his hands behind his back, and let one leg nervously dance before the other, just peeking at the fallen soldier. “Shucks. It weren’t nothin’.”

The team’s entrance with food forestalled whatever Steve was going to say. They talked about the mission. No one other than Tony had injuries, and his were only to his suit. Steve listened as they talked, commenting when he wanted to, but essentially these after-action meetings were only to make sure the details of the reports said similar things, and that no one noticed something that the others hadn’t.

“Who was this guy, anyway?” Clint asked, eating the last piece of the four sausage-pepperoni pizzas that he had shared with Thor. Steve had rolls with soft butter, salad, meatloaf, green beans, carrots, mashed potatoes with a gravy that smelled like a grandma made it, followed by deep-dish cherry pie and a pot of (decaf, though he didn’t know it) coffee. Natasha was devouring a sandwich that appeared bigger than her head, and Bruce . . . Bruce had a cup of chamomile tea. Once he relaxed from the change, he’d be eating more than Natasha and Steve combined. Tony wasn’t hungry; his stomach was bothering him again, and he surreptitiously popped more Tums.

“He’s an unknown,” Steve replied. “Called himself Nautilus; never been seen before and has a serious beef about the government not doing more about climate change and ocean pollution.” Rogers shrugged. “If not for the fact he was violent, I don’t even disagree.”

Thor kept shooting glances between Steve and Tony. Stark frowned pointedly, and he stopped, but only for a moment.

“Thor? Something wrong, pal?” Steve asked.

The god of thunder was about to open his mouth, when Tony positioned himself beside the table and quietly kicked him in the shin. _Hard._ Smiling over-brightly, Thor replied, “No, no, friend Steven. I am well. I wonder how you fare. You were missed on the field of battle.”

Tony bit his lip; he thought he might have broken a toe. _Damn demi-gods and their frickin’ bones of steel._

“Not ready for any fights yet, but I’m getting better. It’ll all happen at once.” Steve grinned. “One day I’ll be sore and irritable, and the next I’m like new. Just taking longer than I expected. I keep waiting for Tony to toss me off his couch.”

Natasha choked on her sandwich, and at Stark’s fulminous growl, she chuckled, patted her chest, and muttered, “Went down the wrong pipe.”

Clint was looking about, at anything, it appeared, that would prevent him from laughing, while Bruce — his buddy, Bruce, who he’d given a home, a place to work, a _life_ — snorted. “It’s all right, Steve. I’m sure there’s enough room on the couch for two if Tony feels the need for a nap     . . . or anything.”

“You guys are a real riot,” Stark snarled and then began herding them towards the door. “Thanks for stopping by. Sorry you have to leave so soon. Here’s your hammer and what’s your hurry. Bye-bye. Bye.” When Clint’s broad shoulders were at last out the door, Tony commanded, “Jarvis, lock that damned door and keep it locked.”

“I asked them to come down,” Steve told him, smiling, the remains of his small feast laid out like a decimated field of war. “Wanted to make sure they were all right.” He dropped his napkin on the empty plates, and eyed Tony. “Are _you_ all right? You’re like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof.”

“Me? Yeah. I’m fine.” He limped over to his workbench. “Perfect. Dum-E, take the tray back to the kitchen,” he ordered, carefully placing the tray on the adjustable carrier and sliding it in until it locked. “Go on.”

His little boy beeped and chirped cheerfully and headed off to do his bidding. He nearly collided with the wall, but he finally made it out without incident.

In their wake, the room was silent, but for the sounds of Kenny G in the background playing, “You’re Beautiful.”

The two men just looked at each other for a long while, Tony doing his best to hide how much he loved the man before him. His heart thumped in his chest, his hands itched to touch, to hold, lips hungry for the taste of him. Lowering his eyes and moving away, he returned to work.

 

 

The balance of Steve’s recovery went without too many hitches.

Too soon, Steve was saying, “Tony, I think it’s time I stopped bothering you and go back to my apartment.”

“You not bothering me, you know,” Tony replied, though with a heavy heart he knew he had to let go. Even with Steve injured and irritable, it had been delightful to have him around all the time. The past days had only underlined why Tony adored the man, but it the long run it wouldn’t work. Steve was young, sweet, and beautiful, while Tony was old, broken, and well, he was still handsome, at least. “I’ve enjoyed every minute. Except when you pushed me off the couch because I don’t happen to like “It’s a Wonderful Life”.”

“Communist. You probably like ketchup on your hot dogs,” Rogers teased, leaning over Tony’s workbench. He’d been having Dum-E carry his stuff up to his apartment over the last day or so; Tony knew what was coming.

“I’m original, not a Commie. And what’s wrong with ketchup, you hidebound traditionalist?”

Steve snorted out a laugh. “Okay, okay,” he said as he raised his hands. “No Jimmy Stewart or mustard; I get it.” He moved closer. “Seriously, though, I wanted to thank you.”

Tony shook his head and focused on the polymers of the cloth he was trying to give more stretch to for Bruce’s pants. His toe, probably broken, throbbed in his boot. “You have, more times than I can count at this point.” He couldn’t bear to look up from his microscope. If he did, he just might cry.

Steve waited a moment and then leaned over and kissed his temple. It was whisper-soft, warm and affectionate, with just the right amount of pressure to be felt. And it fractured Tony’s calm exterior like a ball through glass. And then Rogers was gone.

And he was alone once more.

 

 

Tony tried to avoid appearing like his heart was broken. Which, considering it was, took a lot of effort. He smiled, joked, and teased like normal, or he thought he did. His stomach was aggravating him; coffee only made it worse, and his usual food only exacerbated the ache. He ignored it, working round the clock on items on his backlog, limping around the lab.

Steve often came to him, bringing food, tea ( _blech!_ ), and lounging on the teddy bear couch like a big, idle blond lion, sketch pad in hand, humming lightly with the music, which was now a blend of the artists they both liked. Or he pulled Tony, moaning and grumbling upstairs, to eat with the team, or watch a movie, and destroy Steve and Thor at video games; only Clint was a match for him, his hand/eyes coordination just a touch faster than Steve’s.

Some nights, when neither one of them could sleep, they came together in the common room. Someone had set up a cheap chess set there, and they would play until the wee hours. Steve was the better strategist, but Tony could see many moves ahead, and they usually came out a draw or when either one of them was overtired, a rout.

When the day came, Steve accompanied Tony to the shareholder meeting, ostensibly to make certain he attended. It was usually held in the ballroom in the Tower, the space taking up an entire floor. They met in the common room before heading downstairs. Steve wore a navy blue three-piece suit, with a tie that made his eyes pop like bright sapphires, and a white shirt. He was still underweight, but _day-um_! Tony nearly swallowed his tongue when he first saw him standing against the windows. Rogers still hadn’t managed to get his hair cut, and it tousled softly over his collar, making Tony’s fingers twitch in hunger to play with it.

Stark was wearing grey Armani, certain he looked every inch the suave, sexy, philanthropist, genius billionaire. At the moment he was developing a rousing case of blue balls though, wanting nothing more than to reach out and caress that cheek. Oh, and _that_ one, too.

 “Wow,” Steve told him, with a bright smile. “You clean up pretty good.”

“For the first time in my life, I think I’m going to be eclipsed in the looks department,” he told Steve with a wry grin. “Congratulations. That’s not an easy feat.”

“To-ny.” Steve shook his head; he had no idea how gorgeous he was. It was a shame.

“Really. Anyway, thanks for coming with. These things are a trial. Pep does the actual speech. I just show up and bring much needed glamour to the proceedings. I try to time it so I arrive just after Pepper’s presentation.”

“Sir, there is a commotion in the ballroom. It appears that there is an attempt to kidnap Ms. Potts.” Jarvis’ tones were cool and calm.

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me,” he snarled, immediately incendiary at any threat to Pepper. They may not be together any more, but they were family.

“Jarvis, implement immediate elevator and stair lock-down,” Steve advised, taking off his jacket and tie and folding them neatly, “except for this elevator.”

“I don’t have my suit,” Stark fumed. “The fuckers planned this, in my _Tower_!”

“I’ll surveil, while you get the suit. How many of them are there, Jarvis?”

“Six, Captain. With what appear to be polymer Glock facsimiles.”

“Came through security without a wink,” Tony growled. “And they’re going for Pepper! In my house!”

“Too many hostages, Tony, and I don’t have my shield with me.” Steve slid out of the elevator on the floor above the ballroom. “Go.”

Tony swallowed and took a deep breath. He raced to the penthouse in record time, and had the suit installed in moments, encasing him in red and gold, steel and power. He grabbed Steve’s shield, and flew out the suit bay, gliding down the exterior of the building to just above the ballroom floor. Making like a spider, he glanced down, and took in the tactical situation. Once he had it, he broke the window glass with a toss of Cap’s shield, causing a heavy wind tunnel effect to billow throughout the space, triggering pandemonium. Women screamed, men yelled, clothes went flying, people hurried to the walls for something to hold on to, as chairs and tables fell over and were swept away by the air stream.

As the kidnappers shot at Iron Man, Steve dashed in the doorway, grabbed Pepper and tucked her behind him, while simultaneously reaching for the shield that Tony had thrown to him. Aware they had lost the advantage of a quick exit, the kidnappers began to spray bullets in an effort to distract both men from their escape route, which unfortunately for them, turned out to be a locked service doorway and elevator.

“Get down!” Steve ordered, his voice a roar, and the mass of people scrambled to obey him. He twisted and turned in short, quick motions, preventing the guests from being shot, the bullets pinging off the shield, flattened by the impact. A whizzing bullet cut through his shirt and blood sprayed from a wound on his bicep. He hissed but kept on going.

Iron Man gasped loudly when he saw the blood, instantaneously ready to strangle these jerks, but instead, took out the kidnappers with one scything sweep of his repulsors on stun. They fell like Keystone Kops. It would have been funny, if he felt any humor at all about their actions.

He slipped back the face mask and wasn’t surprised when he had an armful of Pepper a few minutes later. “Well, kid, looks like you’ve joined the big leagues; another kidnapping attempt! What does that make, now? Four? I’m so proud.” His words were torn by the wind.

“Tony! If not for you and Steve, these people could have been hurt!” Her face was so pale, her freckles stood out like a sixth-graders. His hid the fact that his own knees were knocking a little. Steve could have been killed if the bullet had veered a few more inches to the left, and his lovely, bright, brave Pepper taken away for ransom.

At least, he hoped it was for ransom. God knew, he’d pay anything.

“Nobody’s hurt other than Steve,” he grumbled, giving the shareholders a tight smile as he looked over the room. “Everybody okay?”

There were murmurs of assent. Every one of these wealthy, important people were wind-blown and shaken. “Jarvis, release the elevators, so these people can leave. Don’t think anyone’s going to want to stay and schmooze, do you?”

Pepper shook her head. “I’ll call PR and tell them they’ll need to do damage control.” She sighed. “And I thought the Tower would be safe.”

“It is safe, Ms. Potts,” Steve replied, coming up to them, the only evidence he’d been in a fight was his need to tug down his vest, and the slowly welling blood staining the pristine white of his shirt. “No one was hurt. The kidnappers have been apprehended.”

Tony gave him a more intense once-over. “Jarvis, check Captain Optimism for me.”

Rogers rolled his eyes, but stood quietly while the AI scanned him.

“He is not quite healed, sir, and may feel the muscle strain in a few hours. The bullet wound was a graze and did not penetrate muscle. Other than those injuries, he is well.”

Stark gave out a deep breath. “How am I going to explain that you got hurt again, Steve? Natasha and Clint will never let me hear the end of it.” He hoped he deflected his own worry well enough that Steve would let it go. Before Steve could answer, Tony turned to Pepper. “And there are only a few bullet holes in the walls, and a broken window. It’s all good.”

Once the group was out, and the NYPD had come and taken the kidnappers and the security footage with them, the three of them made their way upstairs to the penthouse. Steve excused himself soon afterwards, leaving Tony and Pepper alone.

They were both shaken up, and quietly sipped their coffee in silence, Pepper tucked up against Tony’s side. He was worried that Steve felt more than a few sprains from his unexpected work-out, and wondered how quickly the serum would heal the wound on his arm.

“If you want to go check on him, I’ll be fine,” a small voice said, breaking into his thoughts.

He flushed and sighed, feeling awful about his obsession with Steve. “Sorry.”

“I had a strong feeling you were interested in him. But now, I’m certain.” Her blue eyes were shiny with tears. “I’m glad for you. He’s a great guy.”

His chuckle was disparaging. “Nothing’s gonna happen, Pep. He’s way outta my league,” Tony told her softly, and drank his coffee, wishing his hands would stop shaking.

She ignored that and went on, “He wouldn’t have the same issues as I did.”

“No. But he probably wouldn’t know what to do with me. You sure didn’t, and you had years to learn.”

Pepper turned and gave him a frown. “I think he gets you just fine, Mr. Stark. He certainly put a sharp stop to your recklessness.”

Tony smiled, and brushed his fingers against her cheek. “He tries to. And I think I’d do just about anything to make him happy.” He realized a moment later he had probably put his foot in it. “Um, I mean--”

She nodded. “I know what you meant, and its fine. Are you dating?”

Tony shook his head. “Do you really think I’d do that to him? It’s bad enough I hurt you!”

“You didn’t _hurt_ me, Tony,” she said, and sitting up completely, putting down her coffee, she turned to face him. “We just wanted different things.” Pepper took a moment to organize her thoughts. “Was I sad? Yes, absolutely. Did I feel I had failed? Yes.” She threw up a hand to stop him before he spoke. “No, listen. I couldn’t accept that part of you letting out the better man inside you was Iron Man and The Avengers. I’m sorry I didn’t understand. I-I thought you were just in it for the thrills.” She took his hand and rubbed his weld-burned fingers. “Now, with some time and distance, I can see that you were meant to do this, to be a hero.” She shrugged resignedly. “I just can’t wait and wonder if you’ll be coming back. It would destroy me.” She tapped a finger against her top lip.

“Steve would be right next to you. It’d be easier I think for him, and conversely, more difficult at the same time. And I know you’ll think I’m being silly, but there’s an energy around you two when you’re in the same room together. A sort of subliminal connection that can’t be seen, only felt.”

She let him absorb that, then said, “I wish you nothing but the best, Tony; that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. You know that, right?”

Tony kissed her hair. “I know that. But Steve and I aren’t together. We probably never will be.”

“I think you mean, ‘not yet’.” She laughed at the expression on his face, whatever it was. “You love him, and don’t you dare pretend you don’t. Even hidden in the suit, I got the feeling you might dismember those men after Steve was shot.”

He sighed and let it go. Everyone seemed to think that they belonged together, except _him_. “Did I tell you that Thor is already planning our wedding?”

Pepper laughed out loud and patted his knee. “A little early, maybe. But if he sees it, and I see it, what makes you think Steve doesn’t?”

“He can do better than me, honey,” Tony insisted, a dark thread of self-loathing clearly coming through his voice.

“No, actually, he can’t,” she snapped back, a sharp frown cutting through her forehead, and the CEO tones coming out in her voice. “I know all about your insecurities, Tony, and while Steve may not worship the ground you walk on, he _gets_ you.” She stared him down. “Ask the man to dinner. Use whatever excuse you want. But do it.”

Internally, Tony threw his hands up. _Doesn’t anyone understand?_ “You’re cute when you give orders, Ms. Potts.”

“And you’re the only one who gets away with calling me cute.” She picked up her phone. “Call him. Now. Or I’ll sic Natasha on you.”

Tony Stark was not a man easily threatened. However, the casual, easy violent vibe Natasha Romanoff gave off scared the shit out of him. And worse, she knew it. He did his best to downplay it, but every occasional smirk she gave him, reminded Tony that she was one of the best assassins in the world. And worse, she and Pepper got on like oil and wood. _Fuck_.

“Do I get the time to figure out where I want to take him? Or when?”

“No. Set the date and time and then figure it out. Jarvis, when is Mr. Stark’s next free evening?”

“Tuesday is free, Ms. Potts. And may I say, well played.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.” She smirked at him.

Tony closed his eyes. “Traitor. I’ll remember that the next time you’re yelling for more upgrades.”

“It is in your best interests, sir, to maintain your progeny at optimum capacity,” Jarvis reminded, his voice shaded toward possible smirkage, too. “Who, otherwise, as you have said, ‘will care for you in your dotage’?”

Pepper’s laugh this time was long and loud, and the sparkle was back in her eyes. “You tell him, Jarvis!”

“ _E tu_?” he wondered, then picked up his phone. _This is a disaster in the making._ “Hey, Steve. What’re you doing Tuesday?”

 

 

 

It wasn’t until the following Wednesday that the “date” happened, and it wasn’t from lack of trying on Stark’s part. The world was interfering; between Avengers call-outs and Stark business, an evening to just get some dinner and hang-out had become scarce.

And maybe, just maybe, he could admit he was scared.

He thought that the Gramercy Tavern might be a good idea. American food, good portions, courses Steve would like. It was good date material, too; nice tables, far enough away from another one that they weren’t hearing everyone else’s conversations, and no one would be listening in on theirs. New Yorkers tended to be either blasé or infatuated with their celebrities/superheroes. He hoped everyone would be on the blasé side tonight.

Happy Hogan, Tony’s friend and chauffeur, had decided that the Avengers lifestyle was not for him, and had moved west with Pepper. Tony thought there might be a little romance between the two of them, and if that was the case, all power to them both. Well, there may have been some hurt feelings on his part, but he was trying to be an adult about it. Waving that thought away, he decided to drive, pulling the cherry-red 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429 out from under its covers and onto the street in front of the Tower.

The wolf-whistle and big smile on Rogers’ face was completely worth it. The soldier’s fingers stroked the hood reverently, and he slid into it, softly sighing in pleasure. While Steve would never want to buy or own a car that was as valuable as the Boss, he loved it, even drooled over it, from afar, which made Tony happy. When Steve looked up from his silent adoration, he passed that same gaze to Tony, which caused a spark to light up in his chest, and his cock to stretch against his jeans.

Steve was dressed comfortably, new blue jeans tight around his thighs, brown leather bomber jacket highlighting his broad shoulders, and a blue oxford shirt that made his eyes blaze. Tony rubbed his hands on his thighs, wanting to be near Steve, but unnerved by it, too. It was just so important to get this right.

About to put the car in gear, Tony froze when Steve put his hand over his.

“This is a date, right?” His voice was soft and his gaze, just a little bit yearning.

Tony swallowed, hoping it wasn’t obvious. His heart was thumping in his chest so loudly he was sure it showed through his shirt. “Um, it is if you want it to be.”

Steve frowned. “Then it isn’t?” Happiness slid off his face like a drooping mask.

“No. Yes! I mean, yes.” _You idiot!_ “I want this to be a date. Do you?”

Steve chuckled, eyes sparkling again, hand heavy over Tony’s. “I think a date would be good before we get married, don’t you?”

“That damn Asgardian can never keep his yap shut,” Tony groaned, putting his head down on the steering wheel. Steve’s carefree laugh made him smile, though.

“I don’t think Thor’s as simple as he makes out, Tony. It’s an easy way for him to say things other people ordinarily wouldn’t.”

“Or else he’s learning to be subtle from his Trickster brother. Or whatever he is.”

“From what he says, same-sex marriages are not unusual on Asgard. It’s actually kind of encouraged.” The broad shoulders shrugged. “Maybe it keeps the population down to manageable levels.”

“Since we’re on a date, could we maybe do less talking about the Wonder Twins of Asgard?”

Steve nodded, obviously abashed. “Sure. Sorry. A little nervous.”

“Me, too.” He threw Steve a wistful smile. “Don’t tell anyone or my rep will be ruined.”

That brought a chuckle out of Steve, and Tony pulled out into traffic.

They talked about the car, global warming changing the weather, and the religious right’s resurgence in politics. They parked in a surface lot on 21st Street, with Tony checking to make sure the tracking device was on and ready in case someone had the brilliant idea to try and steal the Boss. He also activated its alarm, which would transmit to his StarkWatch. He left the parking staff “oohing” and “aahing” over the car, and followed Steve to the restaurant.

They were seated by the owner in a nice table at the back, close to the kitchen. It was secluded enough that they wouldn’t be overheard, but enough phone cameras had caught them that Stark was sure they would be in the news before another hour had passed.

Tony ordered bourbon and Steve a beer. Not just any beer, but a Captain Lawrence Five Years Later Black Ale, his current favorite. He didn’t drink much, since it had little effect, so the flavor had to really draw him in.

When their waiter had taken their orders, Tony looked at his drink, sipped it, and asked, “You ever dated a man before?”

Steve thoughtfully swallowed. “No, I can’t say that I have. But you’re not just any guy, are you?”

He smiled, accepting the compliment. “Not even Barnes?”

That made Steve laugh, lighting up his whole face. “No, Tony. It wasn’t like that.” He nodded in wistful remembrance. “But he didn’t mind acting like we were sometimes, just so I wouldn’t get picked on when I was young and so scrawny a stiff wind would have knocked me over some days.

He wasn’t a bully, either; just an upright kind of guy who didn’t mind using his fists to underline a point.” Steve sipped his drink, leaving a white line across his lip that Tony ached to lick off. “Of course, people didn’t talk about men being together then, either. It was considered sick, perverse. The priests in school were quite clear that sex between boys was a sin, and they would keep you polishing pews on your knees for weeks after Friday confession if they suspected you.”

“Hypocrites,” Tony growled.

Steve shrugged. “I never much cared who went with who. Bucky was wildly into the girls, and they loved him back, in every way imaginable. But I was too small for any girl to look at.”

Tony leaned forward, his eyes focused on the way Steve’s big hands were fondling his beer bottle. “Peggy Carter did. Even before you got all big and buff.”

Steve flushed; it was adorable. “I really liked Peggy,” he admitted. “She was smart and pretty and tough. I’m glad she found a good guy, even if it wasn’t me.”

“Her loss, my gain,” Tony chimed in, cheerfully, just before their first course arrived. He considered what Steve had said. After the waiter left them, he muttered, “So you really don’t know if you like guys.”

The soldier’s gaze was patient, his smile sweet. “I know I like you, Tony. I like being near you, around you, on a couch with you, and asleep with you. I think we can figure out the rest.”

He smiled, and leaned his chin on one hand. “You’re adorable.”

Steve blushed. “Stop that.” After a few minutes, he asked, “And you? I’ve never seen you with anyone but women.”

His chuckle was real and a little chagrined. “I’ve been around that particular block a time or two, mostly in school and after. Guys have to be pretty spectacular for me to take notice. Which is probably why I’m here with you.”

“Spectacular? No. I’m just a guy from Brooklyn.”

“Oh, that’s so cute,” Tony teased. “So . . . humble.”

Steve looked like he was going to toss the cherry tomato at the end of his fork at him. “Are you going to tease me all night?”

“That depends. Do I get to kiss you good-night?”

Steve stared at him, and in that sea-blue gaze was a hunger that both shocked and sizzled. Tony immediately stiffened in his pants, a tingling going up his spine to land at the nape of his check, making him shiver. They hung there for a long minute, until the intensity was eclipsed moments later by the waiter’s arrival with more bread. When he was gone, Steve muttered, “Yes. Please.”

Tony could barely keep his mind on the conversation and his hands on his food after that. There was incredible pleasure in knowing that Steve Rogers wanted him. _Wanted_ him, in big, capital letters. He had few doubts that he could entice Steve into his bed tonight.

Then his conscience decided to have a battle with his aroused body. He loved Steve, wanted what was best for him, to make him happy in everything. But he also wanted to bring him to his knees, lost in lust, in love, with him.

They were finishing their main course when Steve said, “You’re kind of far away. Am I boring you?”

“Good god, no,” Tony insisted, leaning forward and caressing Steve’s hand. “I can’t seem to focus right now. Could be because you’re edible.”

Steve laughed. “Never been called that before,” he said, throwing his napkin onto the table.  “But if it means I get to touch you, then get the check.”

The desire simmered between them all the way back to the Tower. Tony even managed to keep his grasping hands off of him in the elevator up to the penthouse. He was going to be a gentleman, he told himself, and treat Steve with love and patience.

Steve apparently hadn’t gotten that memo.

The moment the elevator closed behind him, Steve spun Tony around, and leaned down to kiss him. His lips were warm and plush, coaxing and gentle, but behind that was a passion that caused Tony to moan softly against his mouth. He opened without any thoughts of resistance, yielding easily to this man he loved so much. Anything Steve wanted was his. Even him.

Especially him.

One big hand wrapped around Tony’s neck, easily keeping him in place, while Steve teased and licked, nipped and taunted his mouth. Crushed against his hard length, Tony felt himself go pliant, rarely having experienced the sensation of control being taken from him. Steve effortlessly led him exactly where he wanted him, while Tony clutched hungrily at Steve’s waist, fingers tucked into his jeans, idly rubbing against the prominent hip bones. It was bliss.

When Steve finally pulled back, his eyes were dark sapphires, gleaming in the soft overhead lights. They were both rigid in their pants, but Tony remained still, giving Steve every chance to do whatever he wanted.

“You make me crazy,” Steve whispered against his lips. “Always have.”

“Only fair,” Tony agreed with a wicked smile. “I want to make you happy. Will you let me?”

There was a shudder through the big body in his arms. “How happy?”

“ _Very_ happy.”

Steve sucked in an eager breath. “Won’t take long. I’m holding on by my fingernails.”

“Good to know.” Knowing he wanted to take his time giving Steve the blow-job of his life, he took his hand. “Bed okay?”

The pupils of Steve’s magnificent eyes were blown wide with lust and it was an amazing look on him, with his lips reddened and wet from their kisses. He nodded, seeming almost non-verbal at this point. Tony took his hand and pulled slightly; Steve came willingly and they walked silently to the bedroom.

He took Steve’s jacket off, and then took his time removing the blue oxford before tossing it over a nearby chair. Steve wore an undershirt of white cotton, lovingly delineating each and every ridge of muscle on his chest and abdomen. He shuddered when Tony ran his hands over his chest and rubbed around his nipples. “Tony--?”

“It’s okay, beautiful. Just feel it.” He opened Steve’s belt, and unzipped his jeans, thrilled to find his cotton shorts wet against his knuckles. Steve was hard and ready to go. With a gentle thrust, Tony pushed him back onto the bed, and slid off his jeans, shorts, and loafers in one pull. In just sox and a tee shirt, which Tony rucked up against Steve’s chest, his large, thick cock rested against his belly, shivering as he drew breath.

He ran one finger over the reddened glans, then wrapped his fingers around the shaft. “Not gonna tease you,” Tony promised, beginning to prime his pump with smooth pulls. He knew Steve would come quickly and he did, biting his hand to keep himself silent as he climaxed, hard and fast, staining his undershirt with it. Which was just the cue that Tony had been waiting for. He let Steve rest for just a few minutes, before removing the stained shirt.

Oh, god, he was magnificent. Muscles toned by constant exercise and medical science, gleamed with light sweat under the lights. Blond hair dusted his legs and darkened at his groin with only the slightest treasure trail to his navel.

And right now, he was his.

With that thought, Tony went to his knees, and settled between Steve’s legs. His cock hadn’t noticeably deflated; it was red and wet, his balls hanging heavy and hard. Tony licked his lips; how many times had he dreamt of having Steve here like this?

He ignored the bitter flavor of spent seed as he tongued the glans. Steve moaned. “Tony, you don’t haveta….”

“I want to,” he managed to murmur. “More than anything right now, I really want to, so let me, ‘kay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, do it. Oh, god, please.”

Tony was almost breathless with anticipation and he slid one hand around Steve’s cock and slid it into his mouth. Ah, finally. It was smooth and slick, thick and hard, perfect. It had been a long time, but his body remembered. He widened his lips, tucked his tongue, and began to bob up and down, suction hard on the upswing, slowly taking in more and more of it. Saliva leaked, making his mouth wetter, the sucking sounds getting louder.

He didn’t hear Steve at all and looked up to see him biting his hand again, silencing the cries and moans that were breaking through his throat. _Was that hot, or what?_

Tony knew he wasn’t going to last, and no sooner did he realize it, then his own climax wrung a groan from him, and he wrecked his pants. He slid off to catch his breath, and he saw Steve looking at him, scenting the smell of come in the air, his own chest expanding as he struggled for air.

With a grin, Tony went back to wrecking Steve Rogers, bringing him up, only to pull off and lick at his balls.

“You … promised … no teasing,” his lover muttered, fingers now locked in the comforter beneath him, holding on with a sense of desperation that made Tony hot.

“Mmm,” Tony agreed, and returned to sucking Steve’s mind out through his cock. He held him back from the cusp one more time, before letting his climax swing through him, tightening every muscle on his glorious body, and wringing a soft gasp from his mouth. He struggled to swallow, out of practice, and managed to sloppily drip some, too.

Steve lay gasping, his eyes closed. Tony went to the bathroom and washed out his mouth, not surprised at the glow of satisfaction in his own eyes. He slowly removed his pants and shirt, leaving on a tee shirt out of habit.

There was so much he wanted. It stung, how much it pulled at him, demanded that Steve be his in every way imaginable. It wasn’t just sex, though that was _wow_. So good that even thinking about it make his skin sweat.

He walked back into the bedroom with a warm washcloth and slowly, worshipfully, drew it across Steve’s pink skin. His eyes were deep, dark, blue wells of satisfaction, and Tony’s dropped the cloth to the floor, and slid onto the bed.

“You’re so handsome,” Steve muttered, one hand tracing Tony’s arm and then his chin. “And so smart. Why would a guy who could have anyone want me?”

Tony chuckled. “Well, I kind of think you’re perfect. Will that do?”

Steve frowned. “It’s just the serum.”

“No, Steve, really, just… no.” His fingers stroked across Steve’s skin as he spoke. “It’s you, the kid from Brooklyn. The guy who fights until there’s no more fighting to do? Who would die to save one person just as quickly as ten million? Who cares about the homeless and treats that guy who panhandles on my corner to breakfast whenever you see him? Who was concerned Thor would feel badly that Mjolnir nearly killed you? You’re the guy who took the time and effort to look behind the mask I wear every day, and see _me_.” Tony leaned down and kissed Steve close-mouthed, with as much affection as he could cram into it. “That’s the guy I love more than anyone else in this world.”

Steve’s pupil blossomed until his gaze only held a narrow, electric sliver of indigo.

With a quick movement, Steve had Tony on his back, looking up at him, worry niggling away at him. _Too soon? Tonight was their first date. Oh God, I am so bad at this!_

“You don’t get to take that back, Tony. Not ever,” Steve growled, his knees slowly pushing Tony’s legs apart so he could rest comfortably between them. “I feel the same way.”

Tony gasped shortly, enjoying the sensation of Steve between his legs, on top of him, holding him down with nothing but that sexy body, and he trembled slightly, emotion taking him down a little. “You know I’m not perfect--”

“No, but you’re mine. I can handle your imperfections, just like you can handle mine.” Steve leaned down and started to plant light kisses against Tony’s jawline.

He muttered, “You have imperfections?” and Steve snorted.

“Yes. And you take shots at them every day. And I expect, you still will.” Steve leaned down and kissed him, soft and sweet.

Tony smiled. “Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t bitch.”

“That’s my guy.”

_And that’s my guy. Captain America. Steve Rogers, the guy next door._

_My guy._

_I want to put that on a billboard in Time Square. Take out a middle page spread in every daily. Skywrite it over the world._

“You’re plotting something,” Steve murmured, lips nuzzling the lobe of Tony’s ear.

He grinned. “Not plotting, per se. Just fantasizing about tattooing my name on your ass.” He lifted a hand and slid it across the space in front of him, while the other resting on that fabulous piece of real estate. “Property of Tony Stark.”

Steve pulled back from his exploration of Tony’s neck. “How about on my chest, right over my heart, where everyone could see it?”

Tony gasped; that would be too perfect! He glanced at Steve, and could see the teasing light in his eyes. _Damn. Knew that was too good to be true._

“Or how about I get a tramp stamp on my back? I could walk around in low-riders and belly shirts….”

Stark closed his eyes. _Tramp-stamp? Where the hell had Steve learned that?_

“You could always just keep me barefoot and pregnant,” Steve continued, moving to his knees and stretching his arms over his head.

 _Good God, what a view. Better pull your tongue back into your head before you drool, Stark!_ “Okay; I get it, thanks. No need to beat a dead horse.”

Steve carefully draped himself around Tony, covering him in soft skin and hard muscle. He was as heavy as a mountain lion, but only rested a portion of his weight, somehow knowing just how much to add to give Tony that small, loved feeling he’d so rarely received and needed so desperately. He kissed the tip of Tony’s nose. “I love you. I’ll give you anything you want, within reason. But my skin won’t take a tattoo, Tony, no matter where I put it. It just spits out the ink and leaves it to dribble off. But if I could, I’d wear one for you.”

Stark smiled. “And what would it say?”

Steve chuckled, and hesitated for just a moment before he leaned down to give him a warm, loving kiss. “Taken.”

He gave a leer, and a gentle squeeze to Steve’s thigh, hand coming up to rest against his ass. “Not yet, you’re not.”

As he expected, Rodgers blushed. “Not yet. But . . . soon?” His voice was a little tremulous, eyes wide and hopeful.

Tony took a breath. And then another. For Steve, this was practically begging him to ride his cock. “You are the most important person in my world, Steve, and I will give you _anything_ you want. I just don’t want to give you the bum’s rush – pardon the pun.”

Steve’s smile was soft in answer. “I know. I’m ready, but I’m not. I just, sometimes, I want to just crawl inside your skin with you. Want to know all the silly things that make you _you_. For instance, what would your tattoo say, and where would you put it?”

Tony looked up at the love of his life, and the smile slid off his mouth. His voice became low and a little breathy. “It would say, “When you fell, I died. When you healed, I soared. And when you loved, I fell forever.”

Steve’s breath hitched and his sapphire eyes held huge tears that were just on the brink of dropping. “I love you. I will always love you.” Their lips met, their tears slid down their cheeks, and as Tony urged Steve with deeper kisses, he wondered whether he could start a new meme, before he focused his entire attention on pleasuring his love.

#Fallen.


End file.
